


Telephone

by Linhiful



Series: Modernlorian [2]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Phone Sex, Reader-Insert, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:56:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23223637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linhiful/pseuds/Linhiful
Summary: "It’s kind of hot. That I don’t know what you look like. You could be anyone, but your voice, oh god your voice. I’d recognize it anywhere. You can make me do anything with that voice of yours."
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/You
Series: Modernlorian [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1629919
Comments: 21
Kudos: 148





	Telephone

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely a sequel to Neighbors, but you don't have to read that one to read this one. I did sprinkle in some references to that fic throughout this one so that might make you slightly confused.

“Hey,” says the voice through the phone and dear god it was the silkiest voice you’ve ever heard and for a split second you forgot why you even called. “I’ve been waiting you.”

And you couldn’t help it, the girlish giggle that left your lips bordered on manic. “I bet you tell all the girls that.” There was a puff of noise against your ear but you didn’t have much time to notice or question it before his deep gravelly voice took your attention.

“I can tell you anything you want to hear.” And you bit your lip, cheeks heating up as it dawned on you exactly what was happening right now. Exactly what this type of thing was for.

“I--I’ve never done this before.” You start pacing your living room, the door of your bedroom firmly closed because for some reason the thought of doing this in there just felt wrong. Like you weren’t supposed to bring this kind of thing in there. Not where _he_ could hear you. Not when you were sure he heard you late in the night as you strained to hear his muffled grunts, reaching your fingers between your legs in time with him. That was a different place for different needs. 

Maybe that was a sign of just how lonely you were. _This_ was definitely a sign of how lonely you were, actually. 

“Do you want me to tell you how lovely your voice sounds?” His voice became a caress, and you closed your eyes and almost allowed yourself to believe him. “I want you to be a good girl for me and tell me exactly what you want.” 

You inhaled, trying to gather your thoughts as you let out a shaky breath. “How much do you want me?” You let yourself sink into the cushions, back stretched out as you propped your feet up onto the coffee table, and you wondered if he could hear the quick _tap tap tap_ of anxious energy against the wood. 

“How wet are you right now?” And you frowned, looking down in your lap and wondered how you were supposed to respond. Were you supposed to lie? Would it ruin the fantasy? “Tell me the truth.”

“I’m not,” you say it softly, shyly, like you were doing something wrong, and for a second you weren’t sure if he heard you. You didn’t realize how tight your body was clenched until you heard his soft chuckle through the phone and you relaxed into the couch.

“Good girl,” he says. “For telling me the truth.” You pick at the blanket and bite your lip. _Good girl._ Gods that phrase did things to you, and it was like he knew it. “You aren’t. Yet. But you will be. Because I want you to be. Because I want you to take that soft hand of yours and bring it down to that sweet pussy of yours. I want you to touch your clit for me, sweet girl, because I can’t do it for you. But I want to. I want to _feel_ you get wet. I want it so bad I can taste your sweet pussy already.”

You didn’t hold back your groan this time, throwing your head back against the back of the couch and you swear even he could hear the deep throb of your pussy as you clenched down on nothing. “Wow, you are good at this.” 

“Are you doing it?” he asks, and he’s breathing a little heavier now and you wonder if he’s palming himself through his pants, if he’s just as turned on by this conversation as you are or if this was just like any other call. 

But it was like you couldn’t help but obey him this time, like that voice of his was putting a spell on you as you reached your hand down the front of your shorts and rubbing a finger down your slit. You respond back with a shaky voice, propping the phone on your shoulder, pressed against your cheek. “Yes.”

He groans, a deep baritone that vibrates through you and it goes straight down your body. “Tell me how you feel.”

“Good,” you say, rubbing circles into your clit and you feel zings of pleasure until you dip just the tip of your finger into your wetness and slip it back out. The slow slide of your slick finger as you drag it up your clit was heavenly. “I-I like it when you rub my clit. It makes me so fucking wet. Soft, first, please” you say, panting through your words, “but then it feels good when you press hard. Rub it until I’m screaming.”

He groans louder and you press your finger down harder. You’re dripping wet at this point and you wonder if he can hear how easily your finger slides against your skin, the soft squelch with each pass of your finger. “I want to hear you scream. I need to hear you scream.” And you obey, because he was here in your ear telling you to. Because he _wanted_ it. Because you wanted to believe that he _needed_ it.

Your orgasm comes quick and nosily, and you feel yourself drenched in your cum but you lay boneless on the couch as you hear each other’s deep ragged breaths. He doesn’t hang up and you are content to stay on the phone like this for just a second longer. "Thank you," you say breathlessly into the phone. 

You let the shame settle in long after you hang up, the glow of your orgasm wearing off as you stare at the ceiling from the same place on the couch. You closed your eyes and let out a shuddering breath as you thought about why you were even here.

\--

_I’m casually talking to someone right now. Thought I’d let you know._

You threw your phone and turned away as it bounced against the cushions of the couch, slid onto the floor with a small thump. You resisted the urge to pick it back up again in favor of pacing back and forth the length of your living room. 

It was cluttered, clothes and wrappers strewn about the floor, and usually the mess just tickled the back of your mind, but as your legs tangled themselves into the throw blanket hanging off the cushions, it was just the _last_ straw. You _told_ yourself you were going to clean it on your day off but instead here you were hovering over your phone again as you wracked your mind on how to respond. 

_...casually talking to someone…._

What did that even mean? Casually? Talking? As if he wouldn’t have told you if it didn’t mean something. It _had_ to mean something because why would he tell you about something casual? 

And that was _it._ That you were really over. Because if he found someone else, if he wanted someone else, then you couldn’t stand to touch him knowing that you weren’t enough. He told you because it _meant something._

 ** _Fuck him!_** Your friends blew up your phone the moment you told them. **_There is always better dick!_** And you cracked a smile, laughing at how many times you’ve said that same exact thing. It was a mantra at this point, shouted at each other like it was the spell to make all the pain go away. 

But maybe this was what you needed, really, to move on. To know that it was over, for good this time. 

It didn’t stop you from moping, unkempt hair piled high on your head, the same clothes you’ve worn for the past two days. You only left your apartment for food and work at this point, and as you step over the crumpled wrappers over the floor, the low ache in back from laying in the same position for the last how many hours it’s been. You’ve lost count at this point.

Your stomach felt empty, and you felt the growl low in your belly, but the thought of food made you nauseous. A snack, maybe, something sweet that will soothe your soul because at this point everything is going to upset your stomach. 

It’d just be a quick moment, popping into the coffee shop down the street so you didn’t have to change. Coffee and a donut maybe. You’d take it to go, take it home, and you can settle back down in the comfortable hole that you’ve dug yourself in.

You heard him before you saw him, his distinctive loud laughter that you’d never be able to forget. You didn’t turn around, couldn’t, as you stayed rooted in the spot. Would he see you if you just leave? It felt like your back was on fire, the tension and ache in your back growing the louder he got.

God why were you so stupid? How could you not see this coming? You both came here together all the time, why wouldn’t he be here? You allowed yourself a quick peek over your shoulder, trying to curtain yourself behind your hair as if that would be enough to hide yourself. 

He wasn’t turned to you, but gods, he was still just as beautiful as you remembered. He was always larger than life, the whole room tilted into his direction. You were too focused on him to see her at first, but honestly, you weren’t sure how. She demanded the same type of attention, her laugh loud and uninhibited and you had to bite down the jealousy that welled up deep in your throat.

Was it her? Did he bring her here knowing that you could possibly be here? You stepped up to the counter before they could call your name, and his laughter spiraled your head as you tried to step away. 

Why didn’t you at least put on clean clothes before you left? He’d probably smell you before he saw you. There was no way around him to the exit, so you stepped away, coffee and donut in hand, into the hallway by the bathrooms. 

You could still hear him just as loud here as you could out there, but he was out of sight and there was no way that he could see you either. Luck was not on your side, especially not today, and she followed behind you, even as you tucked yourself away in the corner. 

And fuck, she was beautiful in a way that you could never be. Confident like you never were. You buried your face into your coffee, tried not to stare at her as she passed by you. She didn’t even spare you a passing glance, and you forced yourself to stare at the bulletin instead.

And that’s where you saw it, conspicuous, plain, but it stood out amongst the flashes of color and bolded letters.

**_Why spend your nights alone? First Session Free._ **

\--

“Hey, I’ve been waiting for you.” It was late, super late, and in a building where you can usually hear every creak and movement in the apartments around you, there was only silence. You couldn’t sleep, head sunk into the pillow, staring at the ceiling in the dim light of night. you just _ached_ with useless thoughts, your fingers twitching to pick up your phone and call _he-who-shall-not-be-named._

But you couldn’t, not anymore. Not this time. So you picked up your phone and dialed a different number instead. Your eyes had burned so deeply into the poster for so long that that number was seared into your brain, and maybe you could seal it over memories you would rather forget. 

"I, uh, didn't catch your name last time." You twirled a lock of hair, tried not to flush at what was probably the lamest opening line you could have come up with.

The sound of his deep chuckle eased the tension in your back. “People call me Mando.”

“Cause you _the man though_?” It left your mouth before you could stop yourself and before he could even respond you immediately hung up with a squeak. You buried your face into your comforter and let out a small shriek. 

You were never calling him again.

\--

“Hey,” he says, the same silky smooth voice filling your ears, “I’ve been waiting for you.” It only took you four days before the humiliation faded away just enough that the loneliness ached inside you. Four nights of listening to your neighbor, touching yourself at thoughts of faceless men, trying to drive away the one who you’d rather forget. 

He talks less the more you call him, but he'll still whisper dirty things into your ear when you want them. Sometimes neither of you bother with phone sex and he just listens to you talk. You told the funny stories of your coworkers just to see if you can hear him laugh and every once in a while he'd give a low chuckle. 

_It’s kind of hot._ You said. _That I don’t know what you look like. You could be anyone, but your voice, oh god your voice. I’d recognize it anywhere. You can make me do anything with that voice of yours._

He listened to you cry about your ex, wondering why you aren't good enough and his voice will rumble with a low growl. _He's stupid. You're-_ he pauses hesitantly and you wait with bated breath. -- _remarkable._ And you blush harder than you did when he admitted that he wanted to slam you against the wall and stick his tongue down your ass. 

So you settle into your couch, eyes staring at the phone settled into your hand, a glass of wine in the other. You closed your eyes, took a deep sigh, and gulped down the glass.

You’ve talked every night, and you haven’t looked at your bank yet, but you knew that it probably wasn’t good. 

“Hey,” he says, and it’s short, straight to the point, but the rest of his words tumble out like a caress against your ear. “I’ve been waiting for you.” 

“If you could do anything, anything at all, what would it be?” You refilled your glass, the bottle almost heavy in your hands, and you take the first sip before he even replies.

“With you?” The wine is bitter but crisp against your tongue, and behind the glass you want to whisper yes, but you couldn’t form the words around your lips.

“No,” you say instead. “No limit. If you could do anything, what would it be?” 

“Look outside,” he says and you frown for just a second but you untangle your legs from underneath you and stumble off of your couch. In one hand you cradle your glass as you pull back your curtains, the dim light of the parking lot shines into your eye and for a moment you wonder if this would be like the movies. If you’d see him waiting for you underneath the street lamp with a bouquet of flowers in his arms. 

But you just see the lot full of cars, trees rustling in the wind, and the quiet murmurs of the apartments around you. “What am I looking at?” 

“Look up,” he says, and you do, looking into the clear night sky, the stars twinkling in the distance, and the full moon hung low in the sky. “Just you and me under the stars.” 

“Exhibition kink, huh?” you laughed and you tipped the glass back to take another sip. 

“You’d be beautiful under the moonlight.” You sighed, head tilted back and you closed your eyes and imagined his lips ghosting across your neck. “That noise,” he said,” what did you just think about?” 

“You,” you sigh, “kissing my neck. Am I naked? I think we should be.” He laughed his low rumbling laugh and it sent tingles up your spine. 

“We are,” he says, and you imagine his hands wrapped around your neck, forcing your eyes up against the sky. Your arms ache to hold him, trembling at your sides, but he would shush you, tell you to stay right where you are. He can touch you, but you can’t touch him. “You’re quiet. Means you're thinking something.”

“I thought this was supposed to be your fantasy?” You take another swing of your glass, gulping down the rest of it before placing it down on the windowsill. The wine loosens your tongue just enough that it didn’t even matter at this point. “You’re holding me down, hands around my neck, I can’t see anything but the stars above us.”

He groans, a gravel sound that spurs you on even more. “Don’t look,” he growls, and fuck, that was just enough to keep you going. 

“I won’t,” you moan, and you hold your own hand against your throat, feel the pressure holding you down, and you wished that you had a free hand to move downwards. “Please, I’ll do anything you want.”

“Touch yourself,” he says, and you let out a gasp of breath the moment you release your own throat, the fingers crawling under your shorts. “I want to hear how good it feels.” 

You gasp the moment you feel how slick you already are and you feel his breath hitch over the phone, the static roaring over the receiver. It makes his voice deeper, more primal almost, and you can’t help but sink a finger inside. 

“Keep your eyes on the stars,” he says, and you have to force your eyes open, the lights of the parking lot and the moon blurring together as you try your hardest to do what you are told. “There’s no one here but us, I want to hear you moan. I want to hear how wet you are.” 

You slip another finger in and you didn’t even have to try to moan louder, the pitch of your voice climbing higher and higher as he whispered into your ear. “You’re so beautiful,” he says, and you want to believe that it was true. That this was real. “Stop thinking, I just want you to feel my fingers inside you.” 

You felt tears form at the corner of your eyes and you had to hold back the sniffle. “I’m sorry,” you say, pulling your finger out from inside of you, sliding down to your knees as you tried not to cry. 

“Why are you sorry?” he asks, and you could almost imagine the frown on his face, creasing between his brows. 

“This is going to be the last time,” you say, and he’s quiet for a second, and you leaned against the wall, pulling your knees in to hug yourself. You were small, underneath the windowsill, hiding yourself away from the dim light that streamed through the open window. 

“Did I--”

“No,” you say, hiding another sniffle. “No. I just. I can’t keep doing this.” He makes a quiet _hmm_ in your ear, and you close your eyes, try to capture his voice, but he was never a man to do anything that you didn’t want. 

“Can I at least answer your question?” You bite your lip, and you know that he can’t see you, but you couldn’t help the slight nod of the head. 

He doesn’t speak though, even as the seconds tick by, the silence spilling out between the two of you. He waits until you slip out a hoarse croak. “Yes.”

“I want to meet you,” he says, “Out there.” You swallow down the lump in your throat, clutch your knees closer together. “I’ve imagined your voice right here, in my ear, and I turn around and it’s you.” 

“You don’t know what I look like,” you say and even to your own ears, your voice is weak. He laughs that quiet reserved laugh that makes your heart flutter. 

“I’ll know it’s you,” he says. “And I’ll kiss you, wherever we are. I don’t care. I’ll kiss you if you let me.” You stand up on shaky legs, the words stolen from your throat as you step towards your couch. He was always a patient man with you. He’ll wait for you to respond. You pick up the bottle of wine this time, forgoing the glass as you press your lips against the mouth to swallow.

“You’re just saying that for a paycheck.” He sighs, long and deep and you have to swallow another. 

“I haven’t charged you a penny,” he says, and you almost drop the bottle, but instead drop your body onto the couch with a quiet _thump_ before you can choke out a response.

“Why not?” 

“Will you?” he asked, and you try to imagine his face, try to see the want reflected in his words, but you can’t bring yourself to imagine it. It was just the quiet expanse of your room. “Will you let me?” 

“Yes,” you lie because it didn’t matter what you said this time. Not if this was the last time.

“It’s a date.”

**Author's Note:**

> OOPS I kind of turned the subplot to these fics as a way to process my own break-up with my ex SO SORRY ABOUT THAT.
> 
> The end also turned out a little angstier than I meant for it too. Idk if you could tell but I had trouble half-way through with this one. I had a lot of ideas but my fingers just did not want to type the story out so I ended up just kind of fudging through those plot points so I can finish this. I don't think it was ever going to come out anyways but oh well.
> 
> Really I just wanted to get this done because I was READY TO WORK ON THE NEXT INSTALLMENT which I promise its gonna be juicy juicy juicy. 
> 
> Revived my old tumblr for fanfiction and Mandalorian tbh. Follow me at www.tumblr.com/linhiful


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